Appetite

by Sheila Grinell

  The judge said husband and wife could seal the marriage with a kiss. Jenn stepped into Arun’s arms, and they kissed to applause. They stepped off the platform and their guests clustered around to wish them well. Maggie released Paul’s arm and he bolted. The string trio began to play, and the caterer’s people sprang into action on the patio. Lunch smells began to waft toward the guests.

  Maggie stood to the side of the circle around Jenn and Arun, watching her radiant daughter and the now relaxed groom. Sarah approached and hugged her; Maggie held Sarah tight, swallowing the lump in her throat that presaged tears. It was hard to say good-bye to Jenn’s childhood without confidence that Jenn’s womanhood would be fulfilling. And then, with Jenn truly gone, what next for her?

  She murmured to Sarah, “I think I need to go to the wedding in Bangalore.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  They dropped arms. On impulse Maggie said, “Can you take a month off and travel around India with me?”

  “I can take six months off and travel around the world with you. I’ll Skype my clients. No big deal. I’ve wanted to go on safari in the Serengeti for years! We need to start planning.”

  “Sarah, just India.”

  “I’ll present you with one-, two-, and six-month options. This was meant to be.” Sarah kissed her cheek and slipped away, camera raised in hand.

  As she moved toward the patio to supervise the buffet, Maggie thought about Bangalore. How much would a trip to India cost? Did she have enough saved or would she need Paul’s help? Would he cooperate? She would not give him a choice. She wanted to see Jenn and Arun in the context in which they’d grow, and she needed time away from routine. Time to feel into the corners of her soul’s pantry and handle the bits of pottery nestled there, see what they held. She felt as if she’d opened a door and let in light and air that made dust rise, dust she had to see clear.

  She saw her mother easing her father into a chair at one of the luncheon tables and stepped quickly to them. “Why don’t you sit, Mom? I’ll bring you and Dad plates.”

  Claudia shook her head no and placed her bag on the seat next to her husband. “I need to keep moving. It was a nice ceremony, better than I expected. Jenn looks to be in love, God bless her.”

  Maggie heard the righteous undertone in “God bless her” and pretended not to. “Why don’t you tell her so? It will make her happy.” It felt odd to be manipulating her mother, but Jenn’s feelings were more important. So important that she felt no guilt. Her mother looked small, leaning on the chair back, wearing a white sweater over her floral print in case of rain. Grandmother and granddaughter, separated by so much more than years. Claudia had worshipped convention; Jenn wanted to create a new world order. Maggie empathized with both of them; she’d been both of them. But she was someone different now, someone with dimensions she intended to explore.

  She scanned the backyard. A few well-wishers still surrounded the bride and groom; a line had formed at the buffet; Sarah snapped pictures; Paul and Robert Stamford were nowhere to be found. “Excuse me,” she said to her mother. She went scouting.

  She saw Paul on the patio threshold, his face a storm cloud, a white envelope in his hand. He met her gaze. They approached each other.

  “This is for Jenn,” he said, brandishing the envelope. “Your buddy Stamford wants to buy me off.”

  “Where is Robert?”

  “He left. Do you miss him?”

  “Did you kick him out, for no good reason?”

  “Haven’t you given me good reason?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I made friends with Robert for your sake. He’s admired me from a distance for years, but that’s all.”

  “And you encouraged him?”

  “I am not going to argue with you. Make peace with your daughter’s wedding.” She snatched the envelope and turned on her heel. He caught her arm.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have a party to attend to.”

  “Always work to do when I want you.”

  “No, my work is done.” Almost done, she thought, my work as a mother is almost done. She decided to tell him. “I’m going to Jenn’s wedding in India. Sarah’s going too. We’ll stay for a while. I want to see our daughter and son-in-law in action.”

  He looked stunned. “What about me?”

  “You can go if you like.”

  “You can’t leave me now. This is my best shot!”

  “Oh, your conference. Good luck. Call and tell me all about it.” She pulled out of his grasp. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  He watched her circulate among the diners, so attentive to everyone but him. And Jenn, flitting from table to table, hugs and kisses for everyone but him. This, the bosom of his family, should be warm and soothing, but he felt battered and alone. He scanned the party for a friendly face. Lenny stood with Arun, glad-handing: too noisy. The neighbors, Ellen and Joel: too remote. He spotted Sandi at the far end of the tables, and she waved. He strode to her.

  “You should be proud of your daughter,” Sandi said, offering him the empty chair beside her. “She’s a fine young woman. Makes up her own mind.”

  He sat. Sandi looked odd in a purple dress, with spots of rouge on her cheekbones and red lipstick that made her face look like a Kewpie doll’s. He never thought of her as female, yet here was proof. Makeup or no, she exuded calm. He could count on her.

  “She’s going to marry him again in India in July.”

  “Sounds like fun. I’ll watch over the lab for you.”

  “Not going. Too much happening here.”

  “Speaking of business, you do remember that Alicia’s camped out in my condo? She seems okay, ditsy as usual. Do you still want me to keep her?”

  “I’ll come over this evening and talk to her. Stamford may have cooled down. I gave him a talking to. I think the problem will clear up.”

  “Of course it will,” Sandi said, punching his shoulder with the knuckles of her strong right hand.

  He hadn’t the slightest idea whether his threat of scandal would work. Sandi’s confidence in his ability to keep the enterprise going calmed him some. He’d been able to pull it together for the past twenty years, and past is prologue, isn’t it? Doubt clawed at his heart and soured his stomach. The threat this time was different: he could be ruined and the world could lose something invaluable. He poured a glass of wine from the carafe on the table in front of Sandi and drank, building up the burn in his chest. Sandi would stand by him. And there was always Irene.

  Five o’clock, evening chill in the air. Alone in the backyard, Maggie waited for the tent company to come pick up their wares. Jenn and Arun had taken Maggie’s car to follow his cousins to New Jersey for supper. Lenny had given Sarah a lift to the airport, and when Maggie returned from dropping off her parents at their hotel, Paul had gone for a walk. Except for the lilac branches piled in a corner, the backyard looked as it had before the wedding: spring green with a touch of white and pink.

  Maggie sat in the blessed calm, feeling satisfied. The wedding had gone smoothly; people seemed to enjoy the party, and she and Sarah had a plan. Or the beginning of a plan. Sarah would want to hit all the famous must-sees on the Indian subcontinent. Maggie wanted something simpler and harder to achieve. Yes, she wanted to observe Arun and Jenn in context so she could understand their work. But even more, she wanted to shock herself back into gear, free of Paul and Pelham and her usual preoccupations. India, she expected, would be fertile and chaotic, like a primordial soup from which animating impulses emerge. She crossed arms and hugged herself against the chill and in anticipation.

  Paul appeared on the patio, looking haggard. He sidled up to Maggie.

  “So when are you leaving?” He positioned a patio chair next to hers.

  “Probably in a week. Sarah’s working with a travel agent. They’ll confirm flights in a couple of days.”

  “Can’t you wait until after the conference?”

  “Too late. I want to get there
well before the wedding. Besides, you don’t need me.”

  “I need you to get Stamford to lay off.”

  “I talked to Robert before the ceremony, after you two argued. He said it was out of his hands. You have to get the person who made the allegation to withdraw it. He said he agreed the timing is unfortunate, but he had no choice. He didn’t seem concerned, given the quality of your work.”

  “So he won’t lift a finger, not even for you?”

  Maggie shook her head no and looked away. She felt sorry for him, alone in his needless jealousy. But she wouldn’t stay to nurse him, and she wouldn’t come back to him. He’d alienated his daughter and blown their partnership. She deserved better.

  A glimpse of life after India, because surely she’d return, began to form. It was vague, more a sensation than an image. She’d move into the city, get an accounting job, perhaps go back to school. She could redo her adolescence with abandon this time, welcoming diversions, savoring the flavors.

  And what of Paul? She pictured him trudging into the lab unkempt, having spent the night on Tim’s couch or in some woman’s bed. For all his vaunted independence, he didn’t like to sleep alone. He looked diminished, pathetic in his protest against Robert. She felt pity, nothing more.

  In the silence, Paul recalled his past interactions with his accuser. Miller had always been cordial until Hope stole his techniques. Could he wangle some help from Hope, or was that bridge burned? He still didn’t understand what had gone wrong with her.

  “Don’t go,” he said to his wife.

  “Is there anything specific you need me to do before I leave?”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “You realize I’m not coming back, to you. You’ll have a hard time at first, but you’ll be fine. Someone will take my place.”

  The men from the tent company appeared in the driveway. Maggie pressed his hand and got up to greet them.

  Alone on the patio, he shivered in the evening chill. Maggie’s news sank into him as Stamford’s words whirled through his head. Miller was such a fucking stickler for protocol, worse than Maggie. Maybe if he told Maggie, she’d stay and help him. But he would have to tell her everything to make her stay. Then the look on her face would crush him. He remembered the admiration he used to see there. No, he wouldn’t debase himself. He’d go it alone. The prospect made him nauseous.

  He went into the mudroom to get his jacket. Thirty-five minutes to drive to Sandi’s place in Parkchester. He’d call Maggie from the car and tell her not to expect him. If Irene wouldn’t take him in, he’d sleep on a cot at the hospital. Used to do that a lot in the old days, when his experiments were so damn exciting and he didn’t have staff to handle the mundane stuff. He thought about how much had changed since then. And then defeat sliced through him—he would have to let Stamford control the most important thing he’d ever done or could ever do. His chest contracted and the old hunger rose up. He wanted to start again. He wanted freedom to work his own way. He wanted Jenn to come back. He wanted Maggie to stay. He had run out of luck. He wanted more.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I am grateful to the many people who provided wisdom and support, especially Pam Hait and Carol Test, superb editors both. Thanks also to Jana Bommersback, Susan Freeman, Barbara Grinell, Glenn Hait, Emily Hinchman, Dominique Hoelzinger, Rachelle Marmor, Lisa Miller, Marilyn Millman, Jim Sallis, Ellie Sutter, Lois Zachary, and my patient husband, Tom Johnson.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Toward the end of her forty-year career as a creator of science museums, Sheila Grinell began to write fiction. Appetite is her debut novel. Born in a taxi in Manhattan, she studied at the Bronx High School of Science, Harvard University, and the University of California, Berkeley. She lives in Phoenix with her husband and dog. To learn more, visit sheilagrinell.com.

  Selected Titles from She Writes Press

  She Writes Press is an independent publishing

  company founded to serve women writers everywhere.

  Visit us at www.shewritespress.com.

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